


of what is free (and what is not)

by ljbrary



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Ahsoka Tano-centric, Angst, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, Birds, Hurt, Hurt Ahsoka Tano, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jedi Ahsoka Tano, Mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Ahsoka Tano, Planet Zygerria (Star Wars), Psychological Torture, Slavery, Songs, Zygerria Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), Zygerrians (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljbrary/pseuds/ljbrary
Summary: Ahsoka has never liked waiting.(Melodies of springtime and soft breezes feel like rivers and liberation [and everything she is not.])[or a bit of zygerria, from ahsoka's perspective]
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	of what is free (and what is not)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: nothing graphic, but just be mindful because this is about zygerria, and, well - we all know how that went

Something was singing.

It was a strange thing, the song: a chirping melody that spoke of spring days and summer nights; cool air drying soft skin in dusk that felt as liberating as a shining sun. But to Ahsoka, the sound felt far away. Far, far away -- far enough away to be eclipsed in winter’s aching salve that felt as dry as the freshly cooled remains of a charred branch, abandoned at the edge of a forest; far enough away where abrasive desert winds tore holes through tunics and caressed chapped skin with scathing fingers of sand.

Far, far away from the free song of rose petals and melodies -- but it was so distant she could barely recognize the soft hint of spring; instead, she was trapped in the charred remains of a fire; embers crumbling to ash, and her eyes fluttering open and closed like the staccato of cinders raining down around dead flames.

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

She was beginning to lose count of the familiar beat — which wasn't a good thing, seeing as how the steady rhythm — the sturdy cadence of her inhaled and exhaled breaths — was about the only thing keeping her from freaking out.

A warm breeze tickled her skin, pacifying the stubborn beads of sweat that held her in a suffocating hold, molding to her body and sliding down her skin.

The far away song continued.

The air was humid, but the sun beating down was _hot_ — burning — and Ahsoka was suddenly thankful for the teasing wind, no matter how many bits of dry dust diluted its allaying balm.

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

The metal beneath her was hot, and despite the scorching weather, she suddenly wished she had more of a barrier between herself and the scalding durasteel.

Mentally steeling herself, she flicked her eyes open for the second time upon her return to consciousness, soft melody still drifting through the air parallel the scorching heat. It had only been moments since she had first awoken, and her current predicament was still uneasily settling in.

Fresh rain and green grass, swaying in a warm breeze and flowing into her ears, and Ahsoka’s eyes found the source; the spring of fresh, bubbling water gurgling through the heavy air -- and then the song; springtime and fresh air (and all that she _wished_ ; all that she _wasn't_ ) -- was flooded with abrupt silence of a winter storm -- and the bird flew away, leaving Ahsoka to bear the storm of silence and the gritting of teeth.

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

Mind fuzzy and soft as the blue feathers of the bird now gone, the scratching breeze caressing her skin. The twist of her stomach and sharp pressure in her chest was making it hard for her brain to keep up its loyal mantra, and before she could fully take in her surroundings, her eyes flickered shut once more. She continued her hymn for another few moments, willing her mind and body to catch up with each other and get on the same page, as her hearing strained to brush upon the softness of spring, but was only being met with absence as stifling as the heat itself.

_Breathe._

Her breath felt hot and sticky past her lips, but she hardly noticed.

_Eyes. Open your eyes._

She complied, prying apart her eyelids, this time more slowly and in control, before finally processing her surroundings with the warriors index she had all but forgotten in her moment of disorientation.

_Breathe._

She took another breath, inhaling the humid, musky air through her nose, and releasing the foreign scent back out, as if expelling her initial unease and confusion with it.

The taunting breeze swept around her once more, tugging and rustling her garments. The soft, thin silk willingly complying to the wind, unsticking slightly from her damp skin before calmly settling back down.

_Where am I?_

She unpressed her cheek from the burning metal beneath her, slowly raising her head and pushing herself up with her arms until she was seated in a much more composed position, breathing deeply to calm her pounding heart as she took in the surrounding metal bars — the only boundary separating her from the sickening drop she was suspended over.

_Oh._

She craned her neck slightly to peer through the cracks before recoiling. A sharp, cool pinch caused her hands to fly involuntarily up to her neck, fingers frantically gripping the rough metal _thing_ circling her trachea.

_What?!_

And then —

 _Oh, Force_.

The memories slipped back slowly, fractured and surreal in the stagnant, humid air save the scratchy breeze tugging at her clothes and the blurry memory of a soft summer night flowing through her montrals.

She forced her fingers around the edges of the collar, pulling and prodding and trying to find _some_ leverage in order to alleviate the discomfort. It wasn't until the moment upon realizing the presence of the clasp around her neck that it had become claustrophobic, like an unrelenting choke-hold stealing her breath away even though she knew she could breathe perfectly well enough.

_Enough._

She forced another breath in through her nose, holding it in her lungs for a three-count before exhaling again, finally releasing her desperate grip on the collar and letting her hands drift mindlessly down to the floor of the cage, palms pressing into the searing metal, resisting the urge to pat the rest of her body down or press careful fingertips to smarting bruises that she didn't want to look at (didn’t want to know about).

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

For the first time since awakening, Ahsoka tuned her senses into her surroundings: the bustle of the city streets far below were mere murmurs in her montrals; the sweat-filled, tangy air stung her nose; and a dry, rancid taste filled her mouth, reminding her of the metallic sting of blood. (She must have bitten her tongue when the Queen shocked her, but that was an issue for another time, she decided).

Hands gripping the sturdy bars, she peered, more mindful of the metal grip around her neck this time, around the cage at her surroundings.

She seemed to be mere meters from the walls of the Zygerrian palace, but she had little leverage over her situation nonetheless. It was sickeningly frustrating, but the chiding voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi gave her pause in her annoyance.

_Oftentimes the very things we feel are so close are farther away in practicality than we wish them to be, young one._

He was right, of course. He was _always_ right, it seemed — but still, she could almost imagine Anakin rolling his eyes in retaliation.

_Those with a will find a way, old man._

Speaking of Obi-Wan and Anakin...

_Where are they? What's happening?_

Ahsoka could only guess, which was a thousand times more frustrating than being able to almost stretch her hand to the stone wall just out of her reach — (and _honestly_ , it felt like some sick metaphor).

" _Stang_ ," she huffed under her breath, retracting her useless hand back through the bars of the cage. Breathing the sultry air in irately through her nose, she forced herself to calm down — her anger would do her no good, as her Masters would remind her.

Ahsoka sighed. It seemed the only thing now to do was _wait_.

And Ahsoka _hated_ waiting.

...

The next time Ahsoka became vividly aware of her surroundings, she wasn't alone.

And despite the immense trepidation that having no sense of time or news brought, she would have taken the impeding ignorance over the overwhelming darkness _any day._

_(Dark, like a black hole sucking everything light out of the air; drawing in and destroying the precarious melody of spring air and flower petals that felt only like a distant memory now.)_

" _... You will be_ mine _, little skug..."_

The words made her stomach twist and her throat close at the thought, bile rising discreetly to her mouth before she forced it down.

And oh, it had been _so_ satisfying — the simple gesture reminding him how _minuscule_ his power was over her — just a _flick_ of her wrist and he was overwhelmed with the icy river of fear and the fiery burn of embarrassment, and then she just _couldn't_ help her snarky tongue solidifying the prospect —

" _You better hope_ that _doesn't happen..."_

And then _pain_.

Scorching and bewildering and _ruthless —_ like vibroblades tearing through her skin undeterred. Searing her insides and cramping her muscles like it was tearing them apart; blazing, blistering, torrid and scalding.

And oh, it _hurt_.

The only thing she could hear through the painful ringing in her montrals was the sick laughter from behind her and her strangled screams and gasps, a mockery to her former controlled inhales and exhales earlier -- and the absence of the spring breeze and summer air.

But in her opinion, it was well worth the physical pain than the crippling shame that would suffocate her at the prospect of submitting to the absolute _sleemo_ that was Atai Molec.

And so Ahsoka embraced each and every biting shudder that racked her body in favor of savoring the sweet essence of _defiance_.

And that far outweighed the overbearing electricity arcing through her frame, decreasing her breaths to short, raspy, _strangled_ wheezes, and her muscles to torn, weak, and useless appendages.

And even as his horrendous laughter and sick threats and promises followed her into delirium, Ahsoka held onto her defiance like a lifeline, letting it pull her into the mercy of unconsciousness.

_(And she swore she heard the birds, softly singing her to sleep; a precious song of freedom and open skies, and everything she could see but not touch.)_

...

This time, when Ahsoka awoke, she was alone again, on the searing hot floor of the cage. Her body was sore, and her neck still tingled with the aftershocks of electric burn and muscle pain — but that wasn't all.

She felt _dirty_ , but she didn't exactly know why. Her skin tingled and her montrals ached and it took most of her willpower not to collapse back onto the now strangely alluring floor of her prison.

But she ignored the feeling and gritted her teeth through her discomfort, shifting until she was as upright as she could be despite her aching limbs and itching skin and smarting neck.

Her vision was blurry, and she forced herself to blink, as if that action alone would clear away her disorientation.

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

She subconsciously rubbed her smarting muscles, and it wasn't until she glanced absentmindedly down at her arm that she noticed the bruises.

_But bruises from what?_

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows as she gripped her arm and brought it directly into the sun's dying rays as it sank beneath the horizon.

She squinted, running cautious, careful fingers along the mark, stomach sinking ruefully and chest tightening painfully.

 _Shut up,_ she told herself sternly. _Just leave it be. Don't think about it, not at all. Your Master will come for you... It won't be long now._

She averted her eyes, found the ruffled feathers of the winged song, tilting its head inquisitively at her and blinking as it perched precariously on the edge of the cage _(blue as the sky and free as the clouds)_ \-- and when she blinked, it was gone; leaving her to silence and phantom pressures on her skin that she forced herself not to notice.

But, of course, as her luck would have it, it was the only thing Ahsoka _could_ think about — and she couldn't stop herself from examining her other nasty looking abrasions, though she regretted her tenacious curiosity and stubbornness shortly after coming up with sickeningly similar and confirming results — if the bruises darkening and coloring her sienna skin had anything to say about it.

And so, entrapped by the crippling cold as night fell and the temperature dropped to frigid crispness, Ahsoka _welcomed_ the arduous distraction, forcefully willing the bile to retract back down her burning throat; for her stomach to stop twisting in on itself; for the suffocating pressure forcing air out of her lungs to alleviate; and for the debilitating numbness to disappear.

Again, Ahsoka allowed the sweet mercy of unconsciousness to wrap her in its vying grip and cradle her into a satire sleep.

 _“C’mon, Master…_ ”

_(And she wished the birds would keep singing of springtime and gentle streams; sing their precious lullaby of freedom and intangibility -- but there was only silence.)_

....

It was several days later before she felt a liberating change in the Force.

Her skin tingled in relieved anticipation as she allowed herself to stay pressed against the scorching durasteel beneath her — or at least she told herself it was her choice to do so — though it had been a long few days and she didn't think she could bring herself to lift her head just yet unless absolutely necessary.

Still, hours since their last encounter, the grating voice of Atai Molec seemed to chafe against her montrals, echoing and scratching at the appendages with every sick word ingrained in her conscience; every promise and lie and lewd comment that pressed against her willpower and seized her muscles with electricity when she refused to acknowledge the despicable tenacity in which he spoke.

And the now-silence brought with it a vexing whisper, taunting and glancing against her headtails in the absence of what was expected to come — and Ahsoka was thankful that the vexing whisper; echoing bawdiness of a strange rumble and exotic accent, was drowned out by the occasional chirp of a bird, preaching soft springs and easy summers (and free, unlike Ahsoka), or the distant yet closer-than-ever sounds of the bustling streets impossibly far below her.

Ahsoka was _done_ with the force-forsaken planet and the sleemos who inhabited it, and she was _done_ waiting around for the next moment of sickening realization and violation. (And she was done sitting uselessly by as her people were suffering; subjected to horrors she now only had a _taste_ of.)

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

Her eyes flickered between open and closed, vying for the freeing feeling that her Master would soon bring with him, as he always seemed to do.

She hoped he and Master Obi-Wan were alright...

And then the air moved with an energetic charge and Ahsoka slowly began to shrug herself upwards, birds startling and cage shaking as she gazed up imploringly at the young man perched above her.

She felt her eyes shining but stifled her feelings of immense relief and shaky alleviation of stress and of all that she could not name.

_In._

_Out._

_Breathe._

" _Well, hello, Master... Took you long enough..._ "

_(And suddenly, she felt like the birds outside her cage; free enough to sing.)_

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
